The Shadow of Albion (42 page)

their regiments to serve as couriers and messengers, and it was known throughout

France how highly Bonaparte valued his Polish troops, who added style and spirit to

what was, at this moment in time, the most broadly based multinational army in the

world. In the end, the guards saw what they expected to see, and Wessex and

Koscuisko passed through into Verdun.

„It won’t work for long,“ Wessex told his partner, as they rode up the street to

their assigned billet.

„I didn’t think you wanted to stay long,“ Koscuisko replied with elemental

simplicity.

Verdun was a city with every appearance of being under siege. Its wealthier

residences had become boarding houses for those who had the money to make their

incarcerations comfortable; the less fortunate were crammed into every crowded

corner of the medieval city. Every necessity of life was sold at a premium, and to

find one’s . self without money was to be tumbled into a life of an unspeakable level

of squalor.

The tension of the city’s inhabitants was a nearly tangible thing, composed of

narrow streets and patrolling sentries, of a. high wall and fates held in far-off Imperial

hands. When the war was over, the internees could leave Verdun. But whether they

would find a homeland to return to was another question for a day many of them

might not even live to see.

Wessex and Koscuisko checked in at their billet – despite the oppressive

crowding of the internment city, the provision for traveling officers was much what it

would have been anywhere in France – stabled their horses, and went on to a café to

plan their next move.

„Well?“ Koscuisko said bluntly, once he had been supplied with coffee and

cognac. He spoke French, though any other language would not have been out of

place here in this cosmopolitan city of refugees.

„You astonish me,“ Wessex said mildly. „We are in Verdun, and in desperate

need of gossip. Where else ought we to repair?“

There was a moment while Koscuisko digested this.

„Ah. I see. We are to visit Helicon, then.“

Wessex smiled.

* * *

Germaine de Staël, Baronne de Staël-Holstein, had been born in 1766 to a life of

wealth and privilege. An internationally acclaimed authoress, salonniere, and reigning

Toast of Europe’s intellectuals, she had been banished from France by the

Revolution and from Paris by the Directory. When that government fell in its turn,

Madame had returned at once to the Paris she so loved to become that most French

of paradoxes: an ardent Royalist who embraced the ideals of the Revolution.

In the name of both these loves, she had opposed every step Bonaparte had taken

toward the golden laurel crown of Empire, and when, two years before, he had

forbidden Madame to return to Paris, she had taken up residence in the walled city

simply to spite him, From Verdun she ran one of the most notorious underground

presses in all of Europe; according to rumor, its pamphlets and essays drove both

Napoleon and his unscrupulous handmaiden Talleyrand (satirized in the novel,

Delphine, which had occasioned her banishment) to utter distraction. Yet Bonaparte

dared not make himself appear altogether ridiculous by moving publicly against a

mere woman, one who, moreover, was a daughter of a hero of the Revolution,

banker Jaques Necker.

And so Madame de Staël recreated her famous Paris salons here in this

subjugated city, mocking the Emperor with her very existence.

It took Wessex and Koscuisko about an hour to reach Madame de Staël's house,

making their leisurely way through the streets of the city. Verdun as it had become

reminded Wessex of an Eastern city: crooked, crowded, and desperate. The butler

who opened Madame’s green-painted door was formidably correct in coquelicot

satin livery and powdered horsehair wig. The man did not so much as raise an

eyebrow at Koscuisko’s fantastic uniform, and took Wessex’s card in to his

mistress without a murmur. A moment later he was back to say that Madame would

see them both.

Wessex preceded his friend into Madame’s ground-floor salon.

The room had been painted with fantastic murals and furnished out of the

Arabian Nights. Trompe de l’oeil vistas recreated Madame de Staël's beloved Paris,

while the room itself was strewn with divans and cushions and contained ornaments

of the most fantastic nature, including an enormous green parrot chained to an ivory

perch and a tiny black monkey dressed in a copy of the servant’s livery which sat

upon Madame’s shoulder.

Now nearing her fortieth year, Madame de Staël was still a commandingly

handsome woman. Though the lustrous black curls turbanned in an Indian shawl

were touched with grey, she still retained the opulent figure and round white arms

that had made her known as much for her beauty as for her formidable intellect. She

extended a hand as Wessex entered.

„Reynard!“ she cried, in her hoarse beautiful voice. „So you are not dead!“

Wessex made a profound leg and bowed over Madame’s hand, kissing it

thoroughly. „Reports of my death – as so often – have been greatly exaggerated,

Madame. As you see, I journey instantly to your side to dispel them.“

„Willingly or no,“ Madame responded, darting a glance at his companion.

Wessex made the introduction, and Koscuisko launched into a voluble flood of

Polish. Wessex could not follow their conversation, but apparently Madame was

well enough versed in that language to be able to blush in it. She shook her head,

laughing.

„Abominable boy!“ she declared in French. „But it is good to know I am still

read.“

„Madame knows that her greatest triumphs are still before her,“ Koscuisko

responded gallantly, „and one hears rumors of a masterwork to come – a German

history?“

„Young flatterer!“ Madame declared roundly. „Yes, I am still writing – much as

That Man in Paris would wish that I were not. But come! We shall have tea, and you

may tell me all the news of the larger world which I am denied.“

For fully an hour conversation turned upon events in Paris and the Continental

war. Madame was not so uninformed as she would have herself appear, and her

reputation as the foremost conversante in Europe was well deserved. The discussion

ranged from the rights of man to the necessity of government, touching occasionally

upon the inequities suffered by Verdun’s internees. At last Wessex turned the

conversation toward the purpose of his visit.

„Shocking indeed. One wonders how much longer the Corsican can expect to

send people here without allowing any to leave. One feels there must be some limit to

the numbers poor Verdun can accommodate,“ he said.

„Indeed,“ Madame said, cutting a sly unbeguiled glance toward the man she knew

as the Chevalier de Reynard. „Not tihree weeks past we were forced to accept a

positive deluge of Anglais whose ship was blown ashore near Calais. And what is

most infamous is that it was a Danish ship, and though Denmark trades freely with

France, her officers were likewise imprisoned, her men impressed, their ship

impounded. It is more than shocking – it is infamous!“

„Infamous indeed,“ Wessex agreed smoothly, though his heart was racing with

the excitement of a fresh scent. „But no doubt a temporary annoyance? Once the

Captain applies to the Danish ambassador, his release and that of his crew are

assured, are they not?“

„So one would think, M’sieur le Chevalier, though the post from Verdun is read

by the commander of the garrison, and letters are often stopped. Yet if I were to tell

you that this was a consular vessel carrying members of the Royal family of

Denmark to a meeting in England to seal a treaty that would bring Denmark into the

Grand Alliance that opposes my poor France while she languishes in the grip of that

madman…?“

„Then I should not be surprised that Bonaparte holds this ship and all who sailed

hi her, for where Denmark goes, the rest of the League of Armed Neutrality will

surely follow,“ Wessex said. „Russia has already done so.“

„And Denmark dares not take the opposite side of a Russian quarrel, lest the Tsar

use the excuse to gobble her up – so!“ Madame said, snapping her ringers to

illustrate her point. „But they do not hold all those who sailed upon this ship. So it is

said,“ Madame finished. She selected a sweetmeat from the tea tray before her and

offered it to her costumed monkey. The little creature took the sugared walnut and

bounded away with the tidbit, retreating to the top of a gilt-framed mirror to devour

its treasure.

„If it is said, Madame, I make no doubt that it has been said to you,“ Wessex said

gallantly. „For everyone knows that you are the eyes, the ears, the conscience of

France. I do not doubt that it would be most diverting to make the acquaintance of

these folk. But only if they are entertaining. Saving yourself, Madame, who are an

oasis in a desert, I find myself nearly dead of boredom.“

„My poor Reynard!“ Madame cooed, and laughed her throaty laugh. „You will be

more than bored once you have spent a few weeks here.“

„Alas,“ Wessex said lightly, „I fear that my sojourn here is much briefer than that.

I vow that I have come only to see you.“

„But my dear man – “ Madame said, and stopped. „You will be leaving Verdun?“

„Almost instantly,“ Wessex said. „If the Jacks do not find me here, of course.“

Madame made a moue of distaste at the mention of the Red Jacks. „If it is as you

say, there is a trifling commission you can discharge for me, if you will. In return, I

promise to alleviate your boredom, if you will do me the honor of dining with me this

evening. And bring your handsome friend, of course.“

Extending one glittering, bejeweled hand, Madame achieved the yellow velvet

bellpull and rang it vigorously.

Wessex was already standing. „It will be the greatest delight of my heart,

Madame. You may depend upon it“

By any standards – let alone those of embargoed Verdun – the meal that evening

was lavish, beginning with clear soup and sherry and proceeding to the highest

pinnacle of the gastronome’s art They were seven for supper, and Madame had not

stooped to the empty conventionality of a balanced table. She was the only woman

present.

Koscuisko had shed his uniform for an evening suit of an even more peacock

splendor than his Hussar’s garb, and even the Chevalier de Reynard had found it

incumbent upon himself to blossom, in part, through the good offices of his fellow

internees, in an aubergine silk coat, oriental brocade waistcoat, and dove-colored

breeches ornamented with steel-cut buttons. The party might have been any

gathering in any metropolis – but there was always the undercurrent of tension

peculiar to the walled city.

And as Madame had promised him, Wessex was amused.

The party consisted of Wessex and Koscuisko, and four others: Captain Rytter,

formerly master of the Queen Christina; Lord Valentine Grant, the engaging

redheaded scion of one of England’s noblest families; a Belgian divine named

Poirot; and Sir John Adams, King Henry’s envoy to the Danish court. Dinner was

conducted in French.

Wessex studied Sir John closely, thanking his lucky stars that he and Sir John had

never formally met. It would not do for Sir John to know him as the Duke of

Wessex when he was here upon the pretext of being the Chevalier de Reynard – but

then, even if Sir John should recognize Wessex, the old fox was far too sly to tip his

hand. King Henry’s envoy had this very year achieved the Biblical threescore and

ten, but his gadfly vigor showed no sign of abating. He had been born in England’s

North American colonies, and his forthrightness and persistence had seen . his rise in

the Foreign Service to this most delicate of all posts. If Sir John was in any wise

discomfited by this abrupt change in his fortunes, Wessex could discern no sign of

it.

And Captain Rytter’s presence at Madame de Stael's table was living proof that

Wessex had been right The Christina had been somehow waylaid, and shipwrecked

on the inhospitable shores of France.

It was not unreasonable that conversation should dwell upon such an unfair

misfortune, and so Wessex learned that the Christina had sailed into a fogbank, only

to sail out of it upon the coast of France, hundreds of miles from heir last position.

„And I am afraid the French did not believe anything of my explanation,“ Captain

Rytter said regretfully. „For we were taken and boarded over our protests, the men

impressed and the rest of us sent here to Verdun. I am afraid that the Kronprinz